After The Tunnels
by Sadistic Writer of FanFiction
Summary: After torching the tunnels, Steve takes the kids back to the Byers' house. He then crashes from his adrenaline high, causing concern from not only the kids, but Hopper as well. His injuries were clearly in need of being evaluated, so Hopper steps up to the plate.


Turns out, adrenaline is one _hell_ of a hormone. Steve was sure that without the spike, he wouldn't have made it as far and long as he did. The shitty thing is, once you crash, you go down. Hard. He'd been running high in the tunnels, and once everyone was out of the godforsaken hole, he wanted nothing more than to lay down in the rotting field, and sleep. But he knew he couldn't do that.

"Alright shitheads," he called, gathering the kid's attention, "we're going back to the Byers'; and before you even _think _about asking, _Max_, no you cannot drive back."

The aforementioned girl huffed in annoyance, grumbling about how she had gotten them all to the tunnel safely in the first place, and she could very well take them back. The four kids got into the Camaro, Dustin riding shotgun. Steve climbed into the driver's seat, unable to help the little bit of thrill he felt knowing he was going to drive such a cool car.

"Okay so… I don't actually know where the hell we are right now, so I hope one of you dipshits has directions."

"No worries buddy," Dustin placated, "I've got you covered."

Steve quickly backed the car back onto the main road, before following the directions he was given. As they neared the Byers' residence, he asked about what happened to Billy. As Lucas and Max explained, Mike and Dustin shot each other and Steve worried looks, as Steve's hands had been shaking for the majority of the drive, and occasionally, his eyes drooped as if he were going to fall asleep at the wheel.

"Alright if he's still there, let me handle it. I know I look terrible and he kicked my ass or whatever, but please, for the love of God, just let me handle it." Steve told them, exasperated.

After a couple of minutes of protesting, the kids finally gave in, and agreed to let Steve deal with Billy.

"Also, once we're there, Dustin, man, take a shower. The rest of you probably should too, seeing as you're all filthy and gross, but Dustin you in particular," he points a finger at the boy, "need to shower because that _thing_ sprayed you, and we don't know what that was or if it's harmful."

"Okay." Dustin meekly relented, shrinking back into his seat.

Steve pulled up to the house, groaning when he saw Billy get up from where he was sitting on the porch.

"Stay here."

The kids nodded and slowly unbuckled their seatbelts, but didn't move to open the doors. Steve clambered out, glowering at Billy, attempting to look a lot more steady and confident then he felt.

"What the fuck, Harrington? You stole my _car_?" Billy spat, livid.

"What? No. No, I uh, we were just borrowing it, temporarily, to uh, to look for _my_ car. So uh, they'll just _get out of the car_" he explained, raising his voice to clue the kids inside to get out, "and you can have it back now. Then you will leave. Are we clear?"

Billy grunted, but once the kids were out, he silently gets in and took off, not bothering to Spare any of them a second glance. Steve sighed, and ushered his charges into the house. He noted, disturbingly, how everything seemed to be spinning, and he felt overwhelmingly nauseous. Once they were inside, he fell to his knees on the lawn, and puked. Tears fell down his face as he heaved, each wave causing a screaming pain to stab through his ribs. He managed to empty out the contents of his stomach, and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling his way to the door. When he entered, he noted the sound of a shower running, and was happy to see that the kids were cleaning up the colourful pieces of paper that were littered around the entire house, depicting the hell on earth they'd just walked through and torched.

Blearily, Steve knocked on the bathroom door, announcing to Dustin that he was just grabbing the first aid kit. He returned to the living room, kit in hand, and ordered Mike to take a seat on the couch. The younger boy glared, but did as he was told. Steve took out an elastic wrap bandage, and used it to tightly wrap Mike's ankle, that had already begun to swell from the vines in the tunnel. Max grabbed ice out of the freezer, letting out a screech (that she would later deny ever have happened) when she was face to face with the dead Demodog.

Dustin stepped out of the bathroom, wearing clothes he borrowed from Jonathan's room, and joined the others in the living room. He looked over at Steve, whose head was sluggishly bleeding, and seemed to not quite be there. Concerned, he began to approach the teen, when Steve collapsed.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" He yelled, running to Steve's side. Max and Lucas slide down next to him, a look of panic on their faces.

"What do we do?" Lucas asked, voice wavering from fear.

Nobody answered. Luckily, at that moment, a pair of headlights cast beams of light across the room, and Mike hobbled to the door to see who had arrived.

"It's Hopper's truck!" He announced, and the other three sagged in relief. If anyone knew how to handle this situation, it was Hopper.

The police chief assisted El, who was drained, to the door. Mike and Lucas helped her to the couch, while Max dragged Hopper to Steve, who was still lying prone on the floor.

"What the hell happened to him?" Jim inquired, as knelt beside the battered teen.

Dustin explained everything, wincing when Hop yelled at them for endangering themselves by going into the tunnels.

"Alright, you two," he looked at Dustin and Max, "give me some room to examine him."

Hesitantly, they stepped back.

"Harrington?" Hopper called, softly, attempting to rouse the teen.

He was met with swollen eyes sluggishly blinking at him, cloudy with confusion.

"Harrington, do you know where you are?"

Steve's eyes darted around the room, before he managed to mumble out a somewhat coherent answer.

"Not my house."

Hopper frowned at that, concerned about the kid's wellbeing.

"Kid, I'm gonna help you sit up, is that alright?"

"M'kay."

Hopper put his hands on Steve's upper arms, slowly tilting him up into a seated position. Now that he was able to see the extent of his injuries, Hop felt a new wave of worry hit him.

"Alright kid, I'm going to ask you a couple of questions, and I need you to work with me here, okay?"

"Yeah." Steve let out a strangled whisper.

"Are you feeling nauseous?"

"No… I threw up on the lawn." Steve muttered, words slurring together.

"Are you dizzy?"

"Mmhmm."

"Okay, does it feel like the room is spinning, or you are spinning?"

"Room."

"Do you know what day it is?"

Hopper was met with silence, and Steve frowned at his inability to tell the date.

"How about the year?"

"Nineteen eighty… four?" He responded, unsure. It sounded right to him.

"Yeah, yeah that's right Harrington. Okay I want you to follow my finger with your eyes."

Hopper held up his right pointer finger, moving it from side to side, up and down, then closer to Steve, and further away. He repeated to process with a pen light he had in his shirt pocket.

"Alright can you touch your fingertip to mine?" He asked, holding out his finger. Steve tried to meet it, but ended up poking the side of Hop's finger instead. Hopper then had him try to touch his nose, which wasn't very successful either.

"Okay Harrington, you're doing good," he placated, quelling the worry that settled in his gut, "I'm going to inspect your head now. Let me know if anything hurts too much."

Hopper started where the kids said Steve was hit with the plate. Dustin stood over the two, shining a flashlight where Hopper needed it, since the ceiling lights were too dull. Carefully, Hopper removed the remaining shards of glass that had been stuck in Steve's hair. He noted, with a wince, that a couple had still been in Steve's scalp. He asked Max to pass him an alcohol wipe from the first aid kit, and she complied. He put one hand on the back of Steve's head, knowing that the second alcohol touched the wound, the kid would try to pull away. Steve hissed, flinching with each stroke of the cloth. Hopper taped a piece of gauze to his forehead, before moving on to the cut on his cheek. He methodically cleaned and bandaged it, before moving on to his split lip.

"You doing okay kid?" Hopper asked, partially to check in on him, and partly to keep him awake and engaged.

"M'kay. Tired." Steve slurred.

Hopper poked and prodded at Steve's nose, noticing clear fluid running out of it alongside blood. Hoping it was just mucus, Hopper hesitantly had Dustin shine the light into Steve's ears and was dismayed to see the clear fluid running out of them as well.

"Ew. What is that?" Max asked, leering at Steve.

Ignoring her, Hopper finished cleaning and bandaging Steve's face.

"Alright kid, you got any other injuries I should know about?"

"Kicked… my ribs." Steve gasped out.

Gently, Hopper grabbed Steve's arm and removed it from where he had tightly pressed it against his abdomen.

"I'm going to lift your shirt up, okay?" He warned, not wanting to do something that would scare the kid.

Steve nodded, then winced when that action aggravated his headache. Hop grabbed the hem of Steve's shirt, pulling it up slowly. The teen's stomach and side were covered in bright blue bruises, which would inevitably darken as time went on. Warning him before doing so, Hopper pressed two fingers gently down Steve's side, searching for any obvious breaks. Steve flinched in pain, but didn't pull away.

At that moment, Joyce and the rest of the kids arrived. Lucas and Mike filled them in on what happened, while Hopper pushed Steve's shirt back down.

"Alright," he glanced at Joyce, "I'm taking Steve to the hospital. I don't think his ribs are broken, but he has clear fluid coming out of his nose and ears, so his skull might be fractured. Also, a professional should see him about the concussion he most likely has."

"No… you don't, you don't have to," Steve slurred, words coming out garbled, "I'm… m'kay. Just… lemme sleep."

"No." Hopper glared, before standing up and stretching. He bent down, and picked Steve up, one arm supporting his back, the other beneath his knees. Steve's head fell onto Hopper's shoulder, eyes beginning to close.

The kids, Nancy, Dustin, and Max in particular tried to argue their way into going to the hospital with them, but were shut down by Hopper. Joyce assured them that everything would be okay, and made sure Jim was okay with her keeping El with the rest while he was with Steve.

The ride to the hospital was quiet and tense. Steve drifted in and out of sleep. Hopper focussed on getting them there in one piece. The sign for the ER loomed before them, and Hop pushed down his anxiety, determined to help Steve, who had risked his life twice trying to help the other kids.

Hopper managed to get Steve in right away, using his badge and suspected diagnosis to bump Steve ahead of the others in the emergency room. The doctors ran many tests, getting blood samples, x-rays, and an MRI. Steve had stitches to close the gash on his forehead, as well as the cut on his cheek. It was confirmed that the fluid was cerebrospinal fluid, and Steve did, in fact, have a skull fracture. It was only a hairline fracture, so surgery wasn't required. Steve was prescribed some painkillers, and wasn't allowed to do any strenuous activity for the next six to eight weeks. The fracture would heal on its own, but he'd experience intense headaches for a while. He did have a concussion, and would need someone to look after him for at least the next couple of days.

"Contrary to popular belief," the doctor informed Jim, "sleep is actually good for the brain's healing process. However, it won't hurt if he's woken up during the night, if that'll put whoever's taking care of him at ease."

Hopper nodded, and helped Steve to stand. The teen hand an arm around his wrapped ribs, Hopper slung his arm around Steve's shoulders, gently guiding the kid back to his truck.

"We're going back to the Byers' place. I think everyone just stayed there tonight. In the morning, we'll figure out what to do with you. When are your parents going to be back?"

"Dunno."

Hopper sighed, "Kid, I know you're tired, and hurting, but can you please work with me here?"

"I really don't know when they'll be back. They don't tell me these things." Steve retorted, sounding defeated.

"Alright kid. You can rest, I'll wake you when we get to the house."

With that, Hopper peeled out of the parking lot, and drove home, periodically glancing at the sleeping boy next to him.

"You're an alright kid, Harrington."

As he said he would, Hopper woke Steve up, ushering him into the house and onto the couch, which had been left kid-free for Steve's return. Deciding to let the kid sleep like the doctor said he could, Hopper made himself comfy in the armchair, casting a glance at all the kids (and Joyce) sleeping on mattresses on the floor.

The next day, it was decided that Steve would stay with Hopper and El, so the two kids could watch out for each other and keep one another company. The two of them really grew on each other.

"Hey Chief?" Steve said, tentatively.

"Yeah? What's up Harrington?"

"I just… I wanted to thank you. For taking me to the hospital, for taking me in, helping me, taking care of me. Just… thank you for everything." Steve said, voice grateful, and a slight blush on his cheeks from the vulnerability of his statement.

"It's no problem kid. Besides, you look after El, keeping her company, keeping her happy," Hopper huffs, "what I'm trying to say, is that you're a good kid Harrington."

Steve smiled shyly, before settling down next to El on the couch. The cabin felt homey, and was a pleasant change from the coldness and cleanliness of Steve's place.

After weeks of headaches, nausea, and other post-concussive symptoms, Steve was finally feeling better. Hopper had taken him to get his car from the side of the road by the woods, and Steve was going back to his house. The incident ended up bringing him and the kids closer together, and once he was feeling up to it, he was the designated babysitter. Steve came to a realization, friends are the family you choose for yourself. In his opinion, he chose a pretty damn good family.


End file.
